Having woken up late in Madison, WI with a righteous hangover on Day 2, we made it as far as the border of Minnesota and South Dakota before deciding to stop for the night. If you've ever been to this part of the country, you know there are not a lot of options for lodging and late night entertainment. However, before losing cell reception 30 minutes earlier, we were able to locate an Indian casino just south of interstate 90 across the Iowa border. Given that we had spent the better part of our time in Detroit at casinos and their bars, it seemed like a safe bet. We exited county Highway 75 and cut south on a two lane back road that we hoped would get us there.
After 30 minutes off the freeway in pitch black with no cell service and a grim feeling we were completely lost, we finally started having The Discussion. Namely, who would take it up the ass after being run off the road by a pickup truck while the other ran for help. It was beginning to get heated when we drove over a hill and found the Grand Falls Casino sitting in the middle of a cornfield miles from civilization. No joke, in the middle of a cornfield.
At check-in I noticed the flyer for the upcoming casino events. If Engelbert Humperdinck is making the trek all the way out here, it can't be that bad.
We dropped the bags in the room, hit the ATM, and sauntered up to the bar.
"I'll have a Jack, neat and a beer, please," I tell the bartender who did not look the least bit happy to see customers at midnight on a Tuesday.
"It'll be one or the other. Maximum of one drink per person every 20 minutes."
Apparently there are drink restrictions at a casino in the middle of nowhere. Is this a fucking joke? How do they expect to rape and eventually murder me at craps or blackjack if they won't let me drink myself ballsy with my own money? Let's be honest: how many Indians limit their drinks to three an hour?
...And how do they track that? I looked around the bar expecting to see at least a couple dozen digital kitchen timers counting down with post-its stuck to them describing the alcoholic they're moderating. Nothing but a crabby old man tapping his fingers, impatiently waiting for my order.
"Ok, ok," I say, "how about a double Jack?"
"Nope, one ounce liquor per drink."
"Really? How much do you put in a Martini?"
"I just told you: one ounce of liquor."
"Jesus Christ. Is it free?"
"8 bucks," he replies, not looking the least bit amused.
"Right then, I'll have a beer," I tell him, scanning the bottles on display. “A Grain Belt Premium."
3 dollars later I receive this:
They do have a pretty cool hoodie on their website though.
I give Grain Belt Premium beer and the Grand Falls Casino a big limp one.